Here's Looking at You
by starserendipity
Summary: Bering & Wells and Noir: a Big Snag rewrite featuring Myka and 1940s slang, Helena in a suit and an ending with a twist.
1. Whiteout

Prologue: Monochrome

The rustling of paper increased, then became a roar as the world dissolved around her; the white was everywhere, in her eyes, on her skin, seeping into her bones and when she breathed in, it curled inside her lungs like smoke.

She exhaled.

And the world rushed in around her, snapping back into focus. She blinked, dizzy, trying to stabilize herself on her now towering heels.

Wait, what? She wasn't wearing heels today; she specifically wore her inventory shoes…

She looked down and blinked, then looked back up, rubbing her eyes. This was impossible, yet here she was, in black and white.

Black and white?

Myka blinked once more, just to be sure and when the color did not return she knew she had been well and truly whammied.

She examined herself more closely. Her casual work clothes had been transformed into a blazer jacket and a tight skirt, both cut snugly. Her hair had been pulled back and she felt the weight of a hat resting on top of her tamed curls. Pearls hung from her ears and around her neck, and she reached up and touched them as she peered around the monochromatic room, desperately trying to ascertain where she was.

Where they were. For as she looked to her left, she realized that she wasn't alone.

Helena stood next to her, stunning in the crisp contrast of a black and white world. Her hair was pulled back, the bulk of it concealed under the trilby perched on her head at a jaunty angle. She wore a man's suit, crispy tailored to Helena's slim figure, looking as natural in it as she did everything else. She too looked faintly puzzled, but she still met Myka's eye with a winning smile.

"Helena." Myka tried to keep her voice calm and failed miserably. "Did you perfect time travel when I wasn't looking? Because if I'm not mistaken, this is 1940."

Helena grinned at that, waving away Myka's concern with a lazy hand. "Darling, do you think I would even dare without your explicit permission?"

Myka, even though a thousand nagging questions buzzed at the base of her skull, smiled back. The wheels turned in her head as she continued, "No, of course not, the 1940s were in color, much like the rest of history…"

"Yes, that much I can attest to," Helena replied dryly over her shoulder, turning and walking away to poke her head out of a nearby window. She pulled it back in quickly. "Chicago," she reported. "Whatever happened, we seem to have found ourselves in Chicago, circa 1940."

"Wait, so what happened? How did we end up here?" Myka asked, her eyes still wide with near panic.

"Well," Helena reflected. Myka could practically see the gears spinning behind her eyes as she pieced everything together with an almost annoying calm.

"Yes, I had the elephant, and the sparks came at me, four at once, and it shot the lightning into the stacks—then paper. Manuscript pages." Myka thought aloud as Helena watched, her face inscrutable.

Myka turned to the desk in the center of the room and saw papers lying there. She picked them up, rifling through them. _Kiss Me, Forever_ by Anthony Bishop the first one read, with a pencil notation on the side inquiring '_Is this a good title?'_

"Dreadful title," Helena sniffed, but Myka ignored her, saying excitedly, "I loved Anthony Bishop! He was a '40s crime novelist, hard boiled, I read every single one of his books when I was a kid!"

Helena raised an eyebrow at that. "Was this gem of literature one of those volumes?" she asked.

"No, this was his last one. I don't think he ever finished it…" Myka trailed off.

"Well, that would explain the avalanche of blank pages." Helena gestured to the remaining empty sheets on the desk.

"He went insane from writers block and killed himself," Myka added, and Helena nodded.

"Thus turning the manuscript into an artifact. Not that I've ever taken such drastic measures mind you, but trust me, I can relate."

"I'm sure," Myka smiled.

"Right-y ho then. The question remains. What are we to do?"

Myka shook her head. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"Then we are fortunate indeed," Helena smirked.

* * *

Chapter 1: The Client

Helena had been gone for fifteen minutes and Myka was starting to get worried when the office door, its glass window painted with _Private Investigations_, swung open. "I walked ten blocks," Helena reported, sounding a little winded. "No sign of anything chromatic for as far as I could see. And everything smells of fudge."

Myka sighed. "Nothing in here either. So what's our next move?"

Helena was saved from answering as a shadow appeared behind the glass in the door. The door swung open, revealing a young, blonde woman, dressed much as Myka was in a skirt and blazer, a hat perched on top of riotous curls.

"I hear you're the best in town," the woman purred.

"I've heard that from many," Helena returned, her voice low and seductive as she sized the other woman up.

Myka's outrage bubbled in her throat, but the blonde woman pressed on, "Please, I didn't know where else to turn. My husband has disappeared, and I think it has something to do with this." She held up a photograph, portraying a handsome man carrying the very same elephant statue Myka had been using to clear the static from the Warehouse.

"Well, we know what came through with us," Myka breathed.

Helena didn't answer but ushered the blonde woman to sit, perching herself on the edge of the desk as Myka stood beside her.

"So Miss—" Myka began.

"Please, Mrs. Mrs. Rebecca Carson."

"Mrs. Carson. How can we help you?" Myka asked.

"Thank you, you're very kind. I would love a cup of joe."

"I'm sorry?" Myka was stymied but Helena cottoned on quick enough.

"I think Mrs. Carson would like you, my assistant, to get her a cup of coffee," Helena smirked.

"If it's not too much trouble," the blonde woman simpered.

"Yes, I'll take a cup of tea, as well." Helena was grinning now, enjoying this far too much. "Two sugars in mine."

"I'll put a little something extra in there, just for you," Myka murmured and swept off across the room, looking for anything like a coffee maker. She busied herself while tactfully eavesdropping.

"So your husband liked elephants?" Helena inquired.

"Yes, he was an archeologist," the blonde said, her voice breathy. "He brought this one home. He said it had—" She leaned forward, looking deeply into Helena's eyes, "magical powers." Helena scooted back on the desk as gracefully as she could. "He was terrified it might end up in the wrong hands and now, now he's gone, and I just don't know what to do."

"Relax, toots. Wells here is the best shamus in town," Myka said, handing Mrs. Carson a mug.

"I beg your pardon?" Helena asked indignantly, accent more pronounced than ever.

"Excuse us a sec, will ya?" Myka didn't wait for Mrs. Carson to answer as she steered Helena into the office doorway.

"Myka, what on Earth?"

"The artifact! It must have been pulled in here with us and you and I have been put into these roles—private detective and his gal Friday!" Myka whispered, gesturing excitedly.

"Assistant," Helena corrected with a smirk.

"His gal Friday, or you can solve this case by yourself, Wells, while I brew your tea. Our artifact is what this story is about!"

Helena blinked at that. "A mystery then? Like a Conan Doyle story?"

"Precisely. The manuscript must have been a result of Bishop's writer's block—"

"And now we have a case to solve. We must finish the author's story in order to make our escape!" Helena finished. "We have to find the artifact!"

"Yes, but how?" Myka nibbled her lip. "We don't have any goo, no Teslas, no backup."

Helena couldn't help herself, it seemed, as she leaned forward and pecked Myka on the lips. "Darling, we do have one thing in our favor," she said with her characteristic smirk. "We're us. There are none better." She turned to Mrs. Carson. "Madame, we have decided to offer our services."

Mrs. Carson blinked and Myka hastily added, "You've got yourself a gumshoe."

* * *

Chapter Four: The Ambush

They walked down a long and dimly lit hallway, headed for the exit. "How you holding up, dollface?" Myka drawled, her eyes sparkling.

"Why do you insist on talking that way?" Helena inquired, her hands thrust in her pockets as she – and there was no other word for it – sauntered.

"It's an Anthony Bishop novel! It was written in a time and a style when everything was just a little gritty, a little dangerous; it's called noir. You remember when Pete made you watch Casablanca? It's like that."

Helena kept walking. "So we must get into character, then?"

Myka nodded. "Bishop's novels are superb! They had an elegance, a beauty!"

Helena paused before a wooden door. "Myka Ophelia Bering, are you enjoying this?"

"No!" Myka protested. "I had a dog, doesn't mean I want to be trapped in one." But the glint in her eyes argued otherwise.

Before Helena could contest the point, the wooden door swung open, revealing a beefy man in a fedora on the other side. "Hello, handsome," Helena purred. They moved to enter the office, but before they could take a single step, everything went black.

* * *

Myka came to, tied to a chair. "Helena, wake up!" she hissed and Helena stirred, raising her head and blinking groggily.

"Oh, how uncivilized," she moaned as Myka glared at the man in front of them.

Dressed in a white suit that was doing nothing to hide his rotund figure, the bearded man smiled and boomed, "Welcome to the Indigo Club! My club. I must apologize for the way you were escorted here. The boys can be a bit overzealous." The boys, such as they were, shifted uncomfortably behind them.

Helena chuckled darkly. "And what is it that you require that we remain bound so?"

"What?" The man looked at Helena, puzzled.

"What do you want from us, ya pound of rotten potatoes?" Myka snarled as she translated. There was something about the way Helena spoke that the people in this novel were simply unable to understand.

"Tell me why you were at Mr. Carson's office," the man ordered.

"Not that it's any of your concern," Helena sniffed. "We were searching for clues to his disappearance."

The men in the room all glanced at each other, puzzled. "What?" the man in white asked.

"We were looking for dope on who snatched him," Myka helpfully provided, "and you're looking for Carson too, aren't you, Mr…?"

"Barnabas. Caspian Barnabas," the man said. "You're quite astute for a woman."

"I went to college," Myka simpered; adopting her most doe-eyed expression. Helena rolled her eyes.

"I bet you did," Barnabas condescended.

"You're after the Jade Elephant," Myka continued.

"There is such a thing as too smart," the man rumbled.

"You wanna know a secret?" Myka said, smiling winningly.

The man leaned in, lips curling lecherously. "I'm awash with anticipation."

"Your goons went easy on me because I'm a dame," Myka murmured. "They should have tiedmy ropes tighter." Her left hook took the man by surprise, and he stumbled back as the goons set upon her.

It was a short, messy fight as Myka smashed her chair into one goon, then knocked another out with a quick one-two punch. Helena did her best to assist, tripping a third man as she wiggled against her bonds. Myka reached down and picked up a fallen goon's pistol, pointing it at Barnabas. "Now untie her, you big jasper," she ordered.

The third goon untied Helena and she stood, then whirled and laid the man out, her massive blow landing solidly on the man's face and he dropped like a rock. She cracked her neck and came to stand next to Myka.

"There's been a misunderstand here!" Barnabas said, his hands in the air. "You see, I am the proper owner of the Jade Elephant!"

Barnabas explained his rather sordid tale and asked for their help in recovering the missing artifact. When Helena was disinclined to believe him, he held out a $100 bill.

"Here, take this, for your retainer."

"We don't need your filthy—" Helena started, outraged.

"Eggs in the coffee, boss," Myka cut her off, smooth as silk. "Come on now, it'll be duck soup." Myka serenely stepped over a fallen goon and headed for the exit.

"I have no ruddy idea what that means, but you are enjoying this far too much!" Helena called as she hurried to keep up.

* * *

They returned to Carson's office, where Myka discovered a clue: a matchbook that advertised a hotel matching the author's mother's name. They strolled into the lobby of that establishment a short while later, with Helena marching up to the clerk and shoving her currency under his nose.

"I'd like a look at your guest log and no further questions on the matter, understand?" Helena growled.

The clerk took one look at the color of her money, then split.

Myka sighed. "Helena, it's the 40s. You could have just given him five dollars."

"Oh," Helena replied, looking bashful. "Should I call him back?"

Myka grinned. "It's fine."

They cracked open the guest log. "Someone's erased an entry!" Myka said.

"A moment please." Helena grasped the pencil on the counter and began to shade in the blank entry. A name appeared: _Augustus Pitt Rivers_.

"What on Earth is he doing here?" Helena asked, puzzled. "He retired to Lincolnshire!"

Myka blinked. "You knew Augustus Pitt Rivers!?"

"Not personally. But I attended several of his evening lectures. Fascinating man."

Myka let it go for the moment. "Carson is probably using that name as an alias. Come on, room 211!"

They rushed up the stairs, pausing before the door as the electrical lights on the wall beside them began to short.

"Seem familiar?" Myka asked before Helena kicked in the door. The room was dark, with a window thrown open and the curtains fluttering in the breeze. A man lay on the carpet, unmoving as Myka bent and turned him over, his eyes wide in death.

"He escaped!" Helena cried.

"I don't think so," Myka said. "This is Oliver Carson. And he's stone cold dead."

Helena sighed. "And now our missing object has become a murder mystery."

"One that we must solve. Or we're never going to get out of here."

Helena put her hands on her hips. "Why couldn't we have fallen into one of my stories?" she pouted.

Myka straightened and walked to her wrapping her arms around Helena's waist, trying to assuage her jealousy. "Now Helena—"

She was cut off by Helena's lips pressing insistently against her own, her tongue warm and demanding as it slid into Myka's mouth. Myka gasped and clutched at the back of Helena's suit jacket, and she felt Helena smile before she pulled away.

"Terribly sorry, darling, but I've been wanting to do that all evening. There's just something about that skirt that's positively… delicious." Helena's eyes sparkled wickedly.

Myka straightened her hat and pulled away, smirking. "Then quit your yammering, toots. The longer you jaw, the longer it's gonna take to see what this skirt looks like on the floor," she drawled as she walked to the door, an extra sway to her step.

Helena's jaw dropped.


	2. Shades of Grey

Chapter Nine: The Wife

They drove to Carson's house, Helena commandeering a roadster from an unsuspecting businessman, her lead foot heavy on the pedal as they roared into the suburbs. They pulled into the drive of a neat, unassuming home matching Carson's address.

"Darling, it occurs to me," Helena remarked as they left the vehicle, "if the author of this piece could not find his own ending to this tale, how on Earth are we to?"

"No idea," Myka replied. "But if we don't, we'll be stuck in black and white forever."

Helena sighed and straightened her trilby. "Any chance you want to break the news to the widow?"

"Oh, I'm just the assistant." Myka said blithely. Helena sighed and knocked on the front door.

"That's fine, then, darling. She did seem to fancy me, perhaps my charms could work to our advantage." Helena batted her eyelashes.

"Oh, please, Helena, we don't want her so dazzled she forgets anything else. We need to see if she can remember anything else that's significant," Myka huffed.

The door swung open, revealing a pretty, brunette housewife. "Can I help you?" she asked politely.

"Hello, yes, we're working for Mrs. Rebecca Carson," Helena provided. "Is she home?"

"I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Mrs. Carson hired us to find her husband, may we speak with her?" Myka prompted.

"I'm sorry, is this a joke? I'm Rebecca Carson."

Myka and Helena looked at each other, their eyes wide. "Seems pretty significant to me, darling." Helena murmured. Myka ignored her and proceed to follow the increasingly distraught Mrs. Carson into her living room, where the sad tale unfolded.

It turned out that this Mrs. Carson was the first one, the second having absconded with Mr. Carson and all of the money after he met her at the Indigo Club. "Oh, bollocks," Helena groaned, "that place again." Then she gained a sparkle in her eye, as she looked Myka up and down, speculating. "Myka, when was the last time we went dancing?"

* * *

"Are you nearly ready?" Helena called through the door of Myka's fitting room in the department store. They had been fortunate to find one open and had hurriedly acquired formal wear. Myka took one last look at herself in the mirror, nervously smoothing her hair down, before turning and opening the door with a smile, posing with one hand on her hip so Helena could take in the effect.

Helena gave Myka one very long once-over, then smirked predatorily, stalking forward, elegant in her form-fitting black and white tuxedo, her hair pinned to the nape of her neck in a neat bun. She looked dapper, Myka thought. Dapper and almost good enough to eat.

"No, no, no." Myka protested, dodging Helena's hands. "You'll muss my hair. I thought you wanted to dance?"

"Oh darling, I'd like to do more than just dance," Helena murmured into Myka's ear. She sighed, then relaxed and leaned back reluctantly. "I suppose it can wait until we solve the case." She gave an elegant bow with a flourish. "Would you do me the tremendous honor of escorting me, Agent Bering?"

"It would be my pleasure, Agent Wells."

* * *

They walked into the Indigo Club, Myka draped on Helena's arm, as the dance floor whirled and the band roared.

Helena pursed her lips, surveying the room. "So, it has to be that blonde woman, yes? She killed Mr. Carson, then beat us to the artifact." She looked at Myka, trying valiantly to keep her eyes off of Myka's plunging neckline and failing miserably. They strolled arm in arm across the dance floor, coming to rest at the bar.

"Unless she's working for Barnabas." Myka noted, her own eyes busy observing the room and missing Helena's oblique ogling.

"I'm sorry, darling, what?" Helena blinked and snapped out of it; looking anywhere but at Myka's tight, silver dress that emphasized every curve on the other woman's body.

"It's a good plot device." Myka continued. She looked over the bar, noting the scowling bartender. "Helena. Someone's not happy to see us."

"That's not been uncommon in this particular tale." Helena frowned. "I know you're fond of this era, but it seems utterly lacking in couth."

The band wrapped up its tune, and they turned and joined in the polite applause of the rest of the crowd. The lights lowered, and a familiar figure walked out onto the stage. It was the original Mrs. Rebecca Carson, bottle blonde and wearing a boa as she crooned a slow, sad ballad into a microphone.

"Well surprise, surprise," Myka muttered, turning back to Helena to find the other woman's eyes fixed on certain… assets.

"Helena!' Myka hissed, blushing. Helena smirked and let her eyes slowly trail down Myka's body, before coming back up to meet Myka's wide gaze with a wicked grin.

"Sorry, darling," Helena whispered unconvincingly.

"We'll grab her after the song." Myka declared firmly, trying to maintain her professionalism.

"In the meantime," Helena began, "we should blend." She seized Myka by the hand and pulled her onto the dance floor, locking their bodies together as they slow-danced to the music.

"_This_ is keeping a low profile?" Myka asked through gritted teeth, even as her body curved into Helena's, a low, simmering heat building in her stomach.

"Everyone else is doing it, darling. When in Rome," Helena chuckled, spinning Myka gracefully.

Despite herself, Myka laughed. "Agent Wells, you cut quite the rug."

"I have no idea what that means, but I _was_ educated in the finer points of deportment." Helena smirked, pulling Myka in close to whisper in her ear. "Dancing is the most enjoyable. It so often translates into much more pleasurable, horizontal activities."

Myka gulped, Helena's breath warm in her ear, ghosting down her neck and sending sparks along her spine. Helena's hands, which had been resting decorously on Myka's lower back, drifted south, coming to rest on Myka's backside.

"Hands!" Myka whispered, trying to maintain the last of her professionalism. Helena only hummed and squeezed every so slightly before spinning Myka in a flourish as the song began to wind down.

At the peak of the spin, Myka glanced across the room and locked eyes with Mrs. Carson. The blonde looked alarmed and rushed through the final notes before hurrying off the stage.

"She's made us," Myka hissed, dragging herself away from Helena and bustling after the fleeing woman.

They slipped backstage and quickly cornered the blonde in her dressing room. "Good evening, Mrs. Carson," Helena said pleasantly, her hands on her hips.

Without further delay, the blonde collapsed into the chair in front of her makeup mirror. "Yes, I lied!" she exclaimed. "If I had told you the truth, you wouldn't have helped me!"

"Well, now we will never know, will we? What is your real name?" Helena asked, crossing her arms across her chest. Myka walked around the dressing room, examining the costumes on the rack with a keen eye.

"Lily. Lily Abbot. Please, I didn't mean—"

"Enough of your lies. Admit that you killed Carson." Helena demanded.

"I didn't kill him, I was here rehearsing."

Myka sauntered forward, a curious gleam in her eye. "It's time to start singing, sister, and I don't mean no love song." She drawled. Lily gazed at her with wide eyes, while Helena watched, entranced. Myka's voice was different; huskier.

"I never meant for any of this to happen. I'm not a bad girl!" Lily protested.

"That's a baloney sandwich and you know it. Let me guess, you're a small town gal caught up in the wrong crowd." Myka sauntered towards her, intentionally bringing attention to the way her dress hugged her hips. "Now you're in over your head and all you want is a way out. Disappear and leave this life behind. Is that the picture?"

"How did you know?" Lily questioned, incredulous.

"I've heard that tune a hundred times, same song, different key." Myka gazed at their suspect, her eyes hooded. Helena licked her lips. "Now sing me the chorus."

"But you already know half of it."

"Humor me. I'll even start. Barnabas has you under his thumb."

"He made me get close to Mr. Carson, to get an eye on the Jade Elephant." Lily confirmed.

"Get close, indeed. You were having intimate relations with this man?" Helena's voice was harsh and her eyes never left Myka's body.

"What?" Lily asked, confused. Myka translated "Was he double dipping with you on the side?"

Lily gasped. "How dare you? I am a _lady_!" she huffed, indignant. "When Oliver double-crossed Mr. Barnabas, I knew he was a goner. That's why I hired you to keep him safe!"

"You loved Carson?" Myka pressed.

"I felt bad for him. I have a man, and we're going to run away from all of this!"

"Sure you are, kitten." Myka purred. Helena started to squirm, just a little, unnoticeable but for someone who knew her very, very well.

Myka decided to turn up the heat just a little bit more. She stepped forward as Lily pleaded, "Please, you've got to help me!"

Myka put a single finger under the woman's chin, tilting her head to meet Myka's unflinchingly eyes. "Aww," she cooed. "Save it for the coppers."

"Now get out," Helena ordered, her voice harsh.

"What, this is my—"

"Out!" Helena barked. Lily took one terrified look at her and fled, the door banging behind her. Helena looked at Myka, her eyes burning. "You have been simply dying to play that little scene out, haven't you?"

"Since I was twelve," Myka admitted gleefully. Helena shrugged off her jacket, laying it on Lily's abandoned chair. She stalked towards Myka, rolling up her sleeves, eyes never leaving Myka's face.

Myka let out a low chuckle, "Why Helena, what seems to have you hot and bothered under the collar?"

Helena seized Myka's hips possessively, pinning her against the door. Myka shivered as she felt Helena's breath against her lips, the warmth of those dangerous hands seeping through the fabric of her dress. Helena ducked her head and began to kiss her way up Myka's neck, coming to nibble on her earlobe with a sharp tug. Myka gasped and tilted her head, allowing easier access to her sensitive flesh.

Helena whispered, "Was this in your mystery novels, as well? The dashing detective—" Helena's hands were working feverishly, gathering up Myka's dress at the hips, "seduces the femme fatale," snaking her hands up and under, inching up Myka's thighs with unerring accuracy, and then stopping, hovering just over Myka's core, "and steals her virtue?" Helena's voice dropped a full octave and Myka moaned, rolling her hips, desperate for Helena's touch, but too proud to beg.

Myka's breath had turned to shallow panting, but she gathered herself enough to challenge, "No, usually the private eye just took what he wanted."

She knew the ploy was petty but it succeeded as Helena pulled away with a salacious grin, grabbing Myka roughly by the shoulders and spinning her around to face the door. Helena grasped the back of Myka's neck and sank her teeth into the pale flesh. Myka yelped, her already damp center now soaking wet and aching for relief. Helena sensed her need and smiled against her neck, soothing the hurt with her tongue. Pain melted into pleasure, and Myka could feel her heartbeat pulsing along every inch of heated skin. Nimble fingers caressed the curve of Myka's ass under the hem of her dress, and Helena maneuvered a slim thigh in between Myka's knees, nudging them apart.

Myka gladly obliged, forearms pressed flat against the door and her own teeth sunk into her shoulder, whole body coiled tight with anticipation. Helena's fingers ghosted along the inside of her thighs, teasing, making her wait until Myka thought she would lose her mind. Then, without warning, Helena plunged two fingers deep into her core, and Myka let out a strangled scream against her arm.

Helena leaned in to suck on the back of Myka's neck as she set a steady pace, her fingers curling into Myka over and over again, fucking her relentlessly against the door. Myka rolled her hips with Helena's strokes, feeling herself begin to tighten as sparks flew behind her eyes. She moaned incoherently, half-formed words tumbling out against her arm. "_Fuck_, Helena,_please…"_

Helena chuckled behind her, slowing her strokes just enough to hold Myka at the precipice. "Need something, darling?"

Myka could only nod, whimpering, her back arched and tight as Helena's fingers rested inside her, just waiting to bring her over the edge. "You know, I don't think I've yet told you," she whispered in Myka's ear, her voice full of heat and love, "You look beautiful in that dress."

She bit down on Myka's earlobe, fingers simultaneously picking up a furious stroke, curling in just the right way and Myka was gone, lights exploding behind her eyes, a choked moan ripping from her throat as her orgasm cascaded through her, wave after wave, pulling her to the furthest edges of pleasure before she finally collapsed, spent, in Helena's arms.

Helena held her, hushing her and making soothing noises as Myka rode out the last of her tremors, her forehead leaning against the door. When at last she could trust her trembling legs to hold her weight, she turned, smoothing Helena's hair back from her flushed face and pulling her into a long and passionate kiss.

Myka's hands began to wander but Helena caught them, shaking her head slightly at Myka's questioning look. "Later, darling." Helena breathed. "We have tarried too long as it is."

Myka sighed, forced to concede she was right, but still leaning in to steal one last kiss and adding, "I'm going to hold you to that, Wells."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading and all your lovely remarks.


	3. Back to Black

Chapter Fourteen: The Boyfriend

Their clothing straightened and Myka's makeup and hair touched up, they returned to the dance floor, Myka commenting, "So, tell me you didn't fall for Lily's act."

"Well, darling, it makes sense. Carson did grab the elephant."

"Oh, Helena, don't be fooled by a pretty face and a bad dye job," Myka scoffed.

They strode across the dance floor and towards the table where Barnabas sat, several pretty girls fawning over him. Before they could reach him, they were stopped by a waiter stepping in front of them. He held out a note to Helena and asked, "Excuse me, are you a private dick?"

"I beg your pardon?" Helena's tone could have frozen the air between them but Myka stepped in smoothly and confirmed, "Yes, yes, she is, thank you."

Taking the note and reading it eagerly, she grabbed Helena by the elbow to get her attention. "Look at this!" she demanded. "_'I can help you. Meet me in the alley_.'"

Helena's spine stiffened. "It's a trap."

"No," Myka insisted, "whoever wrote this, we need to talk to them right now," and she strode off, making her way through the crowd, Helena trailing apprehensively behind her.

* * *

They stepped out the side door and into a dark, foggy alley. A figure emerged from a door a few yards further down; it was the bartender, his white jacket crisp against the darkness.

"I don't know how you got in here, but you better take to the air," the man stated evenly. Myka blinked at his words and shared a look with Helena, seeing it click in her eyes at the same moment.

"Mr. Bishop, I presume?" Helena drawled, turning back to the earnest bartender.

"Oh my god, I'm Myka Bering, and I'm such a big fan!" Myka gushed, stepping forward with her hand extended.

"I'm flattered, miss," Bishop said ruefully as he pulled a pistol out of his jacket. "Now drop this case or I shut both your private eyes for good."

Myka and Helena both froze, too stunned to react at this rather sudden twist of events. "How'd you know it was me, anyway?" Bishop continued.

"The handwriting on your cocktail napkin," Myka explained, "it, it matched the notes—" Helena quickly pulled the papers out of her jacket pocket, "on, on your title page, of your book!" Helena handed the paper to the man, who glanced at it, then looked back up at them quizzically.

"That's my manuscript. How did you get in here?"

Myka chuckled nervously. "Well, it's kinda a long story…"

"How did _you_ come to be here?" Helena asked smoothly.

"I—I just—oh, what's it matter?"

"Please, Mr. Bishop, its important." Myka husked, using her noir voice once more.

Bishop looked at her for a moment, calculating, before reluctantly acquiescing. "Oh, alright. If you're a fan, you know how I dedicate every book," he began.

"_'With love, to my love.'_ There's all dedicated to your wife!" Myka explained, her eyes wide with wonder. Helena smiled indulgently at her enthusiasm.

Bishop however, looked stricken and Helena studied his face, coming to a swift conclusion. "Something happened to her, didn't it?" she questioned gently.

"It happened so fast," he said, distraught, his pistol falling to hang at his side. "One day she was sick, then she was gone. I threw myself into a new novel, wrote a few chapters, but the story was wrong. My wife was all I could think about. I'd sit in front of my typewriter and close my eyes. I'd imagine _this_ world. Then, one day, I opened my eyes, and I was here."

"Writer's block did not create your artifact," Helena realized. "It was grief." A shadow passed over her face and she frowned, her eyes distant. Myka tucked her arm into Helena's trying to comfort her.

"Our way out is still the same," Myka tried to press on. "Mr. Bishop, in order for us to leave, we have to finish the story. We need to know who committed the murder so we can escape, to the real world. "

"No! I don't want this story to end! Stop trying to solve it!" He raised the gun again, pointing it at Myka.

"It was you, wasn't it," Helena said quietly. "You erased the late Mr. Carson's name from the hotel registry. You're in love with Ms. Abbot, aren't you Mr. Bishop?"

"You stay away from her! She's special. She's…" he trailed off, his voice wavering.

"She's based on your wife," Myka breathed, all the pieces finally clicking into place.

"Mr. Bishop, we just want to leave your story. What has that to do with Ms. Abbot?" Helena asked, puzzled.

"All of his books end with someone innocent dying in a shootout!" Myka explained. "In this one, it's supposed to be Lily, isn't it? It's why you couldn't finish the story!"

"I couldn't save her in the real world, but I will in this one!" Bishop cried. "So back off!" He jabbed the gun towards Myka but Helena stepped forward quickly, her hands a blur as she nimbly disarmed Bishop.

"Quit waving around your firearm before you hurt yourself, Mr. Bishop. You're an author, not a killer. Trust me; I know the difference." The panic receded from the man's eyes, and she handed the pistol back to him with a small nod.

"Maybe not," he conceded. Then his jaw set firmly, and he added, "but I can stop you from finishing this story. You're in this book for good!"

With that, Bishop turned and ran off into the night, Myka's futile call of "Wait!" echoing in the dark after him.

They headed back into the club, only to find that Barnabas, their last remaining lead, had vanished. He'd taken a call before he'd left, though, and Helena surveyed the telephone, a thought blooming in her mind. "Myka, did they still have telephone operators in 1940?"

Myka nodded and Helena smirked. "Let's see if they are just as bored now as they were in 1890; poor dears did tend to eavesdrop."

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: The Double Cross

Helena's silver tongue did not fail them, and they soon arrived at Barnabas' destination: the Fourth Street Bridge.

Helena turned off the lights and parked the car on the bridge as Myka stepped out, feeling much more relaxed in her button-down blouse. While that dress had certainly worked its magic, it was a relief to slip into something a little less binding. Myka still caught Helena sizing her up, though, and with a grin, flicked one of the buttons on her shirt open, providing Helena with an eyeful. Helena sighed and tore her eyes away, rising out of their roadster and looking around the foggy bridge.

Myka walked to the edge of the bridge and looked over, gasping, "We're too late!" The body of Caspian Barnabas lay on the platform below them, dead as the proverbial doornail, his white suit marred by electric burns.

Helena rushed down the staircase, crouching down to examine his face. "Fingernail marks," she noted. She reached down and pulled out a long strand of black hair from Barnabas' cold grip. "He did not go down without a fight."

"It was a woman," Myka said, thinking quickly, "with long dark hair."

"Now, _who_ does that sound like?" Helena asked rhetorically, meeting Myka's eyes as Myka figure it out.

"Rebecca Carson! The jilted wife, of course! She was so angry, and she knew exactly where Carson would have gone to hide!"

"It seems that no one is to be trusted here, just as in reality," Helena grumbled. She stood and they headed back up the stairs, Helena coming to the top first and freezing as she called, "You!"

A figure in a trench coat had appeared across the bridge and, at Helena's cry, pointed the elephant at her and discharged it. Helena gave an "Ooph!" of surprise as she fell, electricity crawling over her chest as she lost the struggle to breathe and her chest stilled.

"NO!" Myka screamed, falling to her knees, hands scrambling over Helena's neck, trying to feel a pulse. "Helena!" she cried, starting chest compressions.

"Aww…" came a voice from across the bridge. Rebecca Carson stood there, the elephant still pointed at them. "The private eye someone special to you?"

"Why'd you take the elephant?" Myka countered, still trying to coax Helena's heart into beating.

"'Cause Barnabas was gonna pay me for it. That double-crossing, two-timing, good-for-nothing."

"So, now what?" Myka demanded, desperate to stall. "You killed Carson because he had it, you killed Barnabas because he wanted it, and now you're gonna kill me just for looking at it?"

"You said it, sister." Rebecca aimed the elephant, then froze as sirens began to scream in the distance. She fired the elephant and Myka ducked, the bolt making her hair stand on end, and when Myka looked back up, Rebecca Carson had disappeared into the fog.

Myka continued her compressions frantically, growing more concerned with every passing moment. "Come on Helena, wake up! You can't leave me now, not like this!" She bent and tilted Helena's head back, breathing into her mouth. "God, didn't CPR work in the 1940s!" she cried in dismay, bending to breathe into Helena's mouth once more.

A pair of hands snaked around her waist and pulled her in tight, melting their mouths together and after an initial moment of shock, Myka almost sobbed in pure relief. She kissed the life back into Helena, locked in their embrace on that foggy bridge in the middle of the night, Myka needing to make Helena understand just how frightened she had been. When the need for air drove them apart, Myka rested her forehead on Helena's and whispered, "I almost lost you."

"You'll never lose me, darling," Helena whispered back. "I'm right here." She put her hand on Myka's heart. Myka grinned, despite her watering eyes.

"Stop trying to cop a feel, Wells," she joked, trying to break the tension of the moment, suddenly embarrassed at her display of emotion. Helena smiled, understanding her perfectly, and together they stood, brushing the dirt off themselves.

As the sirens grew closer, Helena looked around, asking, "Did you catch Mrs. Carson?"

Myka shook her head. "She ran off when I stopped to save you."

"Good choice," Helena said crisply, her eyes dancing in amusement. "Where to now?"

Myka frowned, then gestured, her eyes wide, "Helena, the Indigo Club! Rebecca said that Barnabas was going to pay her. I bet she thinks she still has the cash!"

* * *

Chapter Twenty Three: The Big Snag

Helena and Myka ran into the Indigo Club to find Rebecca standing behind Lily on the stairs, the elephant pointed at the doorway. She fired over their heads as they ran in, saying, "You and your lookin' just made a trip for biscuits. Now I'm putting you in a wooden kimono."

"Bloody hell, that's not even English!" Helena grumbled, outraged.

"It doesn't matter, because this is over," Myka said firmly, raising her gun to point at Rebecca.

A sudden shot rang out and everyone looked up at the balcony to find Bishop clutching cash and a pistol. He walked down the stairs, saying, "You let Rebecca walk out of her, so that she lets Lily go, or you both die."

"The dame already fried two people, Bishop," Myka countered. "First chance she gets, she'll drop you both into deep freeze."

"I'll take my chances," Bishop said.

"Tony, are you bananas? They're on our side," Lily protested.

"Shut your trap, you dumb broad," Rebecca snapped.

"Scram, or I throw lead," Bishop said flatly.

"You do not want to lose someone you love. Believe me Mr. Bishop, I understand completely." Helena said, stepping forward with her hands out, unarmed. "But this literally has to end."

"No!" Bishop cried. "My life is here now, with Lily."

"Mr. Bishop, I know what it is to have suffered incomparable loss." Helena's voice was grave as she looked Bishop in the eye. "But believe me, there is nothing you can do to change it. No matter how many times we try to rewrite our own stories, the past remains indelible." The sadness in her voice was overwhelming and Bishop hesitated.

"Tony, I love you. But if you think I'd let you hurt anyone, just to save me…" Lily trailed off. "Well, then you don't know me at all."

"You're just like her," Bishop breathed, an ache in his voice, "pure and sweet. And usually right."

"I know," Lily said with a smile. Then she turned, socking Rebecca in the face, sending the woman to the ground. The pair hurried down the stairs as Rebecca stood back up, discharging the elephant wildly and sending everyone in the room diving for cover. Myka crouched behind the bar with Bishop and Lily, who clung to each other.

"I love you baby." Lily simpered.

"You're all I care about," he returned.

"Oh, save it for the boat ride," Myka groaned, rolling her eyes. Rebecca turned towards the sound of their voices and Helena took the opportunity to break cover, charging up the stairs to tackle the woman, ducking under the lightning bolt.

She was rebuffed and took a tumble down the stairs, rolling away when she hit the ground. Myka looked at Bishop and asked, "There's no way she's a real person, right?"

"No," Bishop said firmly. "She's based on my mother in law."

"Well, then, you'll like this." Myka said, grinning. She stood, aimed and fired, catching Rebecca right in the heart. The woman clutched her chest and tumbled over the railing, landing face up and still.

It was over.

* * *

Chapter Twenty Seven: The Big Goodbye.

They stepped outside the Indigo Club, Helena holding the elephant while Myka looked around, puzzled. "We solved the mystery, didn't we? Why are we still here?"

Helena shifted back and forth, suddenly uncertain. Myka saw the change in her demeanor and frowned, putting her hand on Helena's shoulder. "Helena, what's wrong?"

Helena looked at Myka with her deep, unfathomable eyes. "Myka, dearest Myka. Think for a moment."

"Think about what?"

"Think about what you were doing when this all began."

Myka thought back and said, "Inventory. I was chasing electrical sparks."

"Yes, and who were you with?"

Myka wrinkled her forehead and thought, struggling with the fog in her memory that seemed as thick as the real fog that swirled around them.

Helena grew impatient. "Myka, think. Was I there?"

The truth bloomed in Myka's mind, despite the voice in the back of her head screaming its denial, the sudden force of it making her gasp and weak at the knees. How had she not seen it before, she thought, stunned and suddenly heartsick.

"You're not real," she whispered.

Helena sighed and shook her head, rueful. "I'm no more real than any of the characters in this story, I'm afraid."

"But how-?" Myka asked, reaching out to cup Helena's face with her hand. "How did this happen?"

"I was not quite certain, myself, until we figure out what caused this artifact's creation in the first place." Her eyes searched Myka's face. "Grief, Myka. Your grief over me is so strong and so deep that the artifact responded to you when you were exposed to it, sucking you into this world and creating a facsimile of me to comfort you, just as Lily comforts Anthony Bishop." Helena's voice was steady throughout this revelation, though her eyes seemed overly bright.

"No," Myka whispered. "No, no, no…"

"I'm so sorry, Myka." Helena whispered. She turned and pointed the elephant to the fog, then discharged it. The elephant screeched and the lightning crashed, opening a portal out. "You have to return to the real world, my darling," Helen said sadly, pressing the elephant into Myka's hands.

"No," Myka said, drawing Helena back in close. "What about you? You'll… disappear."

"I suspect so," Helena agreed. "This is Mr. Bishop's story, after all, and we are merely guests." She took a breath. "Myka," she said, leaning back slightly. "Myka, sweet Myka. Whatever it is that I may have done in the real world, the one thing that I can promise you is this: I am trying to return to you. And whatever is keeping us apart, I swear to you that I am fighting tooth and nail, with every ounce of my strength."

Myka sniffed, tears flowing freely now. "How do I know that?" she asked. "You said it yourself, I made you. You're, you're just a figment!"

Helena looked at her for a long moment, then pressed her hand to Myka's heart. "Do you feel it here?"

Myka gazed back, searching Helena's face for a sign, for anything. Finally she whispered, "Yes."

"The you must believe that it is so, and so must the true version of myself." She kissed Myka's forehead. "Go now. You must return."

Myka wrapped her arms around Helena's waist, drawing her into one last, sorrow-laced kiss. Myka finally stepped away with a small, sad smile as Bishop and Lily stepped out of the Indigo Club to join them.

The two exchanged a few words that Myka couldn't quite catch, and then Bishop walked over to Myka, as Helena moved to comfort Lily.

"What would happen if I stayed?" Bishop asked, his voice broken.

"I honestly don't know," Myka replied. "You might get your happy ending, or you might fade away."

He looked back at Helena and Lily once more. "What about your PI?" he asked, confused.

"A figment," Myka said evenly. "Born of my own grief."

"Still alive on the outside?" Bishop asked and Myka nodded.

He took a moment and thought, then he reached a conclusion, his face set. "You go," he said firmly. "As long as there's life, there's hope, am I right? You go on out there and you find your PI. Set things right."

"What about you?" Myka asked, clutching the elephant.

"One more second with her is a happier ending than a lifetime without her." He turned and walked back to Lily, sweeping her into his arms as Helena stepped back.

Myka and Helena looked at each other across the foggy street, the faint breeze pulling at their hair. An entire lifetime flashed before Myka's eyes and a bittersweet smile tugged at Helena's lips.

Myka broke away and turned, falling into the fog as the world once more dissolved into white.

* * *

Epilogue: Technicolor

She opened her eyes and found herself lying on the floor of the Warehouse, Pete leaning over her with a concerned look on his face.

"What happened?" She groaned.

"I don't know Mykes. It was like one second we were dodging static and using the elephant, then the next there were papers everywhere and you were gone. Then two minutes later, all the papers had ink on them and then they just kinda… spat you back out." Pete gestured at the mess of loose pages surrounding them.

Myka sat up and looked around at the typewritten pages. Hastily, she gathered them to her chest, reluctant to let Pete see what their contents held. She glanced at the paper on the top of the pile, and gasped as she read its contents: "'The Private Eye sighed as he watched his girl walk into the fog and out of his life, before heading down the street in the opposite direction. He smiled as he walked, confident, though he did not know how or when or even why, that he would see his girl again someday. He vanished into the fog, and though folks around here talked about it for years, not a single soul ever laid eyes on him again.'"

Tears stung Myka's eyes as she stood, clutching the papers in her hands. She walked down the aisle, away from Pete, needing a moment to compose herself.

"Hey Mykes, come back!" Pete called after her. He scooped up one of the papers she missed and scanned it, asking, "Detectives? Dames? Murder? Mykes, is this a crime novel?"

Myka paused and turned her head, considering. "No," she answered at last. "It's a love story."

She walked on, confident, though she did not know how or when or even why, that one day, she would see her girl again.

* * *

A/N: And here we are at the conclusion. Thank you for reading!


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